


Passerby

by schfiftytwo



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Affairs, Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. References, Angst, Cheating, Confrontations, F/F, Forbidden Love, Loss of Control, Loss of Faith, Loss of Innocence, Not Happy, Pulp Fiction References, Scott Pilgrim vs The World References, Sex, alternate universe - train station, definitely sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-21
Updated: 2015-07-21
Packaged: 2018-04-10 09:54:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4387301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schfiftytwo/pseuds/schfiftytwo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Skye is venturing by herself, motivated by very little outside a desire to erase her past. She's been through a lot, but as she looks toward the great unknown she happens upon a familiar face.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Passerby

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! So its been about a billion years since my last post. I promise you that I haven't forgotten any of the stories I've begun, nor have I forgotten my sweet fandoms and fellow fans.
> 
> Short story for the absence is that I'm in the process of applying to law school, so that's got a lot of my time eaten up between studying and working! Hopefully when its all done I can tackle my stories and *maybe* keep up with a story or two every now and then. They're still works IN PROGRESS, I assure you.
> 
> Anyway. This story was inspired by a really great short piece by a friend of mine with a real knack for capturing very complex things in the most mundane situations. I thought the setting would make for a great angsty Skimmons fic. I wanted to flesh out a more melancholic side to Skye's character; some of the best fics I've read had Skye with a bit of a sad-streak to her, and I wanted to take a stab at doing this myself (since the rest of my stories have a different spin on Skye). Credit to that friend of mine for the inspiration.
> 
> It's got a bit of language and a bit of adult content, but nothing that really detracts from the point. 
> 
> Enjoy! Let me know what you think; love it, hate it, or anything in between. :)

_I’m lost._

That’s what Skye thought to herself as she meandered through the crowded train station, her headphones doing little to block the noise of the crowds around her. With every passing second she encountered another family surrounded by bags, another couple holding hands and smiling at another adventure together, another hapless tourist asking the porters for help.

She came to the end of the concourse and took the only escalator down to the platform, her mind still fixated. Handing her crumpled ticket to the conductor, she lifted herself up into the empty train car and took a seat at the end. She looked up and down the aisle for any sign of other people, and finding nothing took the time to settle herself in. Slipping her feet out of her shoes, she sat cross-legged on the chair and closed her eyes, reclining back ever so slightly. Her muscles relaxed as her mind began to wander. The melancholic art-pop music streaming into her ears turned into a soft buzz as Skye began to lose herself in thought.

It had been a rough few weeks.

“And this is the kitchen. That’s really it; it’s a small place. Hard to find anything bigger in a city like this, you know…? And work has me tied down so much that I find myself moving pretty often. It’s funny actually, I never thought that…”

Skye smiled and nodded as she listened to Jemma talk about her living arrangement. To be honest, she couldn’t have ever imagined being in this situation. For years since she had dropped out of school she had worked as a freelance writer with more than just a knack for computers, making pennies finding stories that it seemed only she read in her own personal attempt to improve the general crappy-ness of the world. This past week, Skye had been following leads surrounding a government hack from overseas, when she happened upon _her_.

It started out easily enough. A response from her agency about not wanting to comment on current matters of national security, and then an unsolicited email from an insider wanting to talk to Skye about her story.

The source had invited her to dinner, and over candlelight in a hushed corner of Washington DC Skye came to realize the depth of perhaps the greatest story she had ever laid eyes on.

Yeah, sure, the hacking thing was interesting. Something about the Chinese or the Russians or someone getting access to a treasure trove of private information, blah blah blah. She thought she heard something about nuclear launch codes, maybe something about impending doom…? 

For Skye, the _real_ story was the source. And what a source she was.

Skye had never felt like this toward anyone before, never felt like she had desperately needed someone. She had lived her life independently, never wanted for anything but the next big story. Men and women alike had trembled before her at this almost insatiable drive to do the best at what she did. 

But this one was different. Jemma was smart, poised, clearly good at her work, and clearly someone who saw through the mire of the bureaucracy that she operated in. A true diamond in the rough, different from the rest. Better than the rest.

In a word, Skye could dig it. And more than anything, she felt a keen desire to dig into Jemma.

The jolt of the train moving from the platform broke through Skye’s memory, flooding her with a sensation of speed. Opening her eyes, she noticed a few more people sitting in her car; some sleeping, some reading. Soundlessly, Skye decided to take in her surroundings a bit more. The seat was a bit tattered, worn from probably decades of continuous use. Her tray table was unhinged from its mount, and she made a mental note not to even try to use it for anything. She shuffled through the seat-back pocket and found the typical mix of uncollected gum wrappers, unused sickness bags, and a magazine that had gone through one too many hands.

Taking off her headphones, Skye collected a modicum of interest and began to flip through the magazine. The main feature was hers, coincidentally. A 10-pager on how the government and its associated agencies had failed to protect immense amounts of data from the hands of ne’er-do-wells, complete with fancy pictures and graphs from her team of hapless unpaid interns.

She skimmed the text of the article, reaching the clincher of the entire piece; the interview with her so-called “anonymous government source”.

_“So, to be clear, you worked for some of the most secretive organizations in the country, correct?”_

_“Yes, yes I did. I was a particular agency that was formerly headquartered in Washington DC. Did a lot of work in their science division, and now I consult on biochemical engineering projects for an outside contractor. For a while now my assignments have all focused on biometrics and their applications within systems based on the internet of things; very interesting stuff.”_

_“Fascinating. You mentioned prior to this interview that there had been issues with some of these projects, what kinds of things were coming up short?”_

_“To be frank, the systems lacked even a basic framework for combating threats from external sources, similar to…”_

Skye’s eyes trailed away. Over the PA, the engineer crackled an announcement for ticket checks. Almost immediately, a porter approached her from behind, tapping her shoulder. Skye looked up at him and noticed his short-ish stature, with a ridiculous-looking round conductor hat perched on his scruffy head. His badge read in plain black “Lance Hunter”.

“Your ticket, miss?” he said to her in an accented tone.

Ridiculous hat, ridiculous name. Oh, and ridiculous accent. She pulled her ticket from her pocket and handed it to him, a slight glare directed at him.

He seemed off-put by her gesture, and quickly stamped it. He walked over to the next seat, muttering something about how he wasn’t getting paid nearly enough to deal with this and that he’d rather be on a beach sipping on a beer.

Skye scoffed quietly, her apathy turning to scorn. She removed her headphones a bit too forcefully, making them clamor down to the floor beneath her seat. Skye scoffed at her clumsiness and felt her anger begin to rise ever more.

In the grand scheme of things, his problems were so completely minuscule. Who was he to complain? He had a job, he probably had a family (all with those annoying accents, she was sure), he got to travel everywhere. What did she have?

Before, it definitely felt like something. Now…not so much.

She looked out the window and observed the passing scenery, trying to release her renewed mountain of tension.

All it took was a kiss, and now this. Skye took the precious seconds of stillness between the uncontrollable roll of her eyes back into her head to take in their handiwork. The window in Jemma’s bedroom was streaked with messy handprints. The floor, once orderly and clean, was strewn with clothes and a few fallen “tools”, discarded in the heat of many moments. 

Now, they were lying in bed, their sinewy forms embraced around each other. She felt the fire inside of her growing by leaps and bounds as her eyes locked with the woman beside her. Their collective moans began to compound, until they finally crested together. As Skye rode out her orgasm, her partner lifted herself from her side and gave her a smirk.

“I knew you were more than just books and big words.” Skye said, her voice tinged with exhaustion. She threaded her partner’s hair between her fingers, feeling its light softness on her skin. Tucking the leftover loose strands behind her ear, Skye gave her partner the warmest smile she could muster as she planted a slightly-sloppy kiss on her lips.

This girl had it all; Jemma Simmons had it all. And here was Skye, a broke journalist, taking a sweet, sweet piece of it.

She looked wordlessly into Jemma’s eyes and nuzzled into the crook of her neck. She felt Jemma’s arms embrace her, and to Skye’s ears she could make out the faint sound of Jemma’s heartbeat ringing in her head.

As they both began to doze off, the door behind them opened.

“…Jemma…?”

“Sure, hold on a second.”

Skye’s attention broke, almost instinctively perking up at the voice. She knew that accent. British. Definitely melodic, and sweet to her ears. She peered her head down the aisle and saw Lance fumbling with his conductor stamp as he waited for the woman to hand over her ticket. Skye’s eyes grew as they traced toward the source of the voice.

Sitting across and down several aisles. So close.

“Jemma…” she said to herself, biting her lip and retreating her head back to her seat.

Skye couldn’t believe how this had happened. She had tried her best to leave without a trace, and yet there she was, the object of her affection and the source of her deep scorn.

_Why is she here…? Didn’t she move away already…? After what happened….?_

Her mind began to race as she cupped her face in her hands. Taking a deep breath, she peered out again. Perhaps she was mistaken; all these emotions must have gotten the better of her and the woman down the aisle was most DEFINITELY not Jemma. It couldn’t be her.

Skye squinted her eyes slightly, and what she saw brought on a sinking feeling in her gut. It was Jemma, alright. Sitting there with a long cardigan over a collared blouse, her hair nestled neatly in a bun. Her face was scrunched at her computer screen, probably on some unfathomably complicated project with countless lines of code. Her lips were quickly mouthing whatever it was she was reading to herself.

(Un)satisfied with her confirmation, Skye slithered back into her chair, her tension now compounded with a healthy dose of anxiety.

_I can’t let her see me._

“…Jemma, what is this……? Who…..Who the **FUCK** is that…????”

“Bobbi, please don’t shout, let me explain-“

“No. No, you know what, I’m not going to let you explain. No. I’ve had it. I knew you were feeling differently these days…..b-but I **CANNOT** believe you’d go back on me like this….Wh-why, why me…? What did I ever do to you….??”

Jemma got up, clutching her blanket to her still naked body. Tears were streaming from her cheeks.

“Pl-please, don’t do this.”

The woman approached Jemma, her eyes filled with rage. Her pupils were fixated on Jemma, until she directed them down toward the bed.

“So this…this is the girl you found?”

She approached Skye with a single stride.

“Bobbi, stay away from her-“

She swatted away Jemma’s hand on her shoulder and looked squarely down at Skye. “Listen to me. This is **MY** house, **MY** bed, and **MY** Jemma. Who the fuck are you to trample all this, you, you….you **FUCKING MONSTER** ….!!!”

Skye could feel hot tears begin to run down her cheeks. She tried to grab something to cover herself up, but there was nothing around her. Her heart felt too heavy, her entire body trembling with the gravity of the situation. She began to weep quietly.

“…Can’t even look me in the eye. This is pathetic…I-I can’t believe this….Jemma…..!”

As Skye’s sobbing began to fill her ears, she could hear the sounds of more shouting between Jemma and Bobbi echoing through the house, until finally the door to the house slammed shut. All she could hear afterwards were the pained cries from one Jemma Simmons, tinged with the occasional pounding of a fist against the wall downstairs.

Knowing all this, she dressed herself haphazardly, staining her shirt with her tears, and ran down the stairs and out the back door. As she made her escape, she turned to look at Jemma, collapsed in the doorway, her shoulders shaking uncontrollably.

“No….Bobbi, no….” she sputtered between gasps.

All Skye could do was leave before she ruined anything else.

Skye removed her hands from her face and saw a few tears had smeared on her palms. She quickly brushed away any other lingering tears on her face and wiped them off on her jacket. This was exactly what she had tried to avoid.

Jemma and Skye had decided to do something that set them on course to their ruin. That much was clear; the rawness of the moment would perhaps never leave either of them.

_But._

Skye had never once felt that she’d ever find anyone who she could be close to. She’d had the occasional co-worker give her the eyes, or an intern sheepishly try to ask her out on a date, but all of them were just… _normal people_. They were nice enough, but they never sparked anything in her other than a friendly fondness.

Meeting Jemma for that story changed all of that, though. Skye hung on to her every word, laughed at her anecdotes, and sat through every bit of silence they shared with the most genuine smiles, locking eyes just like Uma Thurman and John Travolta in Pulp Fiction. Skye’s business was trying to expose the deep cuts in the world, but If there was ever someone that Skye thought could fix the deep cuts she had inside, it had to be Jemma.

They reached the end of the block, the night air heavy with humidity.

”Miss Simmons, I can’t thank you enough for all your time; it’s crazy that nobody’s talked to you about this before!”

Jemma smiled, brushing a loose hair out of her eye. “Not at all! I just couldn’t sleep well at night knowing what I knew, and I’m glad I shared all I could to at least try to fix all of this.”

“Well, the world will thank you very, very soon, Miss Simmons.”

“Please. You don’t have to be so formal. Call me Jemma.”

“Oh…” Skye said after a beat. “Ok. Jemma. Well, I should be on my way; my team needs to start cracking this story.”

“Isn’t it late already?”

“No, no. I have interns on speed dial; they’ll do anything I need them to do, see?”

Skye pulled out her phone to show her and scrolled through a list labeled _My Loveable Grunts_ , smirking proudly as Jemma giggled.

“Haha. Ok, ok. Well can’t I offer you something for the road…? Maybe some snacks for you and your interns…? Or at least a cup of tea.”

“Oh, no no that’s alright, I really should-“

“I won’t take no for an answer. Here, my townhouse is just up here. It’ll only be a minute!”

Before she knew it, Jemma had Skye by the forearm, dragging her up the street.

“Wow. This place is great! They must pay you well.”

Skye set her tote down, admiring the granite counters and french cooktop.

“You’d be surprised what they do for just bits of advice. It’s not Stark Industries-level money, but its more than enough to be comfortable.”

She reached up toward the cupboard, revealing a collection of teas.

“What can I make you tonight? I’ve got green tea, orange tea, royal black tea, blue tea, white tea, apple tea, cinnamon tea, quiet time, lazy sunday, chamomile, liver disaster, ginger tea, ginkgo tea, jasmine tea…and Lipton.”

“Got quite the spread there, Miss Simmons.” She walked closer to the open cupboard and took a closer look at each box.

As she silently moved her hands down the rows of teas, she felt a sudden warmth behind her. Turning around, Skye found herself face to face with Jemma.

“Oh! I’m sorry. Did you want to-“

Jemma raised a finger to Skye’s lips, quieting her. With her free hand she unbuttoned the top half of her shirt, revealing a silky black bra and the gentle curves of her breasts.

“Do you still want tea?” Jemma asked, in the sultriest tone Skye had ever heard.

“Um…I can…not have tea….” Skye sputtered.

Jemma bit her lower lip. “That’s what I thought.” she said, a rising passion hiding behind her words.

And in the blink of an eye Skye found herself in an embrace she never wanted to leave from.

It all came flooding back to her as she ran around the corner, her tears stinging her already-puffy eyes.

_How could I have missed the signs…? The pictures…? The pairs of shoes in the bedroom…?_

Skye could remember them all. Lumbering up the stairs with Jemma on her back, there were pictures lining the walls. Pictures of Jemma.

Jemma and her lover.

But Skye couldn’t be bothered by that; not in the moment. Not when she was lying across Jemma’s bed, or against the wall, or held up on the windowsill. Her head was flooded with pleasure; even as she spied the room and saw what to anyone else would be the obvious signs, Skye refused to take them in, comforted by her juvenile assumption that it was maybe nothing and that this was the start of something new with someone new.

_You….you **FUCKING MONSTER** …!_

Skye gasped at the painful memory. Those words cut right into her.

She kept going aimlessly through the city. The corners became a blur. She eventually found her way to her studio on the bad side of town. Locking the door behind her, she dropped her tote and pulled a bottle of whiskey from behind her bed. Sitting on the floor, she drank straight from the bottle as she let her sorrow take over completely.

_***Beep-Beep-Beep-Beep-Beeeeeeeeeep*** _

Skye slammed her fist on the floor, searching through a painful haze for her phone. She found it, and moved her hand messily across the screen to stop the noise. Her face was planted squarely on the rug, and coughing up dust Skye sat herself up and felt her head throb from the clearly still-unprocessed alcohol coursing through her veins.

“Hello…? Skye…?”

Skye rubbed her eyes and heard the voice coming from her phone. In her daze, she must have answered the call. She picked up the phone, noting the 10 missed calls she had gotten already, presumably from Jemma.

“Jemma.”

Her voice crackled weakly from the receiver.

“Skye. Skye, I’m sorry. I-I should have told you. I shouldn’t have done anything. I just…”

She paused.

“…Bobbi’s gone. She came back and took everything and left. My house is a mess now.”

Skye began to feel that all-too-familiar pit in her stomach start to form again. Not a good mix with her hangover.

“Jemma…Jemma, why didn’t you tell me…? I’m…I’m not a bad person. I’m not.”

“Skye. I know. I know you’re not…It’s…It’s me. It’s me thats bad. My work is what dominates my life, and sometimes everything else just disappears. But never…never like this.”

She paused again.

“I…I’m sorry Skye. I’m sorry.”

_*Click*_

Skye looked at her phone screen, now showing the time of the now-over call. Thirty seconds.

It only took her thirty seconds to cut it all off. _To end it._

Skye dropped her phone to the floor and reached for her whiskey bottle, her mind blank. She brought the lip to her mouth and found nothing but air from the empty bottle.

Feeling the pit in her stomach consume her, Skye threw the empty bottle against the wall and collapsed to the floor, sobbing amid the glass fragments.

Skye looked up from her tears, wiping them from her eyes with her jacket sleeve. The train had stopped.

_Did she dare look down the aisle?_

Skye peered, bleary-eyed, down toward Jemma’s seat.

Empty.

She sighed, feeling the pit inside her recede a bit.

“…Skye?”

She felt a hand on her shoulder.

_Jemma._

Skye looked up. Jemma was crouched by her side, a look of concern on her face. Skye composed herself, sitting up straight.

“H-Hi, Jemma. Miss Simmons, I mean……sorry.”

The corner of Jemma’s mouth formed a slight grin.

“No, no. That’s quite alright. What are you doing here?”

“Oh…I…I’m traveling. For work. Gotta go search for those stories, you know. What about you? I-Is this your stop?”

Jemma nodded, standing up. Behind her was a small suitcase.

“Yes. I’ve got business to attend to.”

Silence followed. An awkward, uncomfortable, uncompromising silence. Not at all like before.

Jemma gave her a straight face.

“…Well. I’ve got to go. It was…good to see you, Skye.”

Skye looked up at Jemma, searching for any sign of feeling, any spark in her eye, or the glint of a flame.

_Nothing._

Without another word Jemma walked off the train, her boots clanking on the metal steps of the car down to the platform. Skye watched as she walked through the crowds and into a tunnel. As soon as she rounded the corner, the train began to move. The familiar voice of the engineer crackled over the PA again, announcing the time to their next stop.

Skye felt the pit inside her open up again. Moving into the innermost seat beside her, she put her headphones back on, drew up her hood from her jacket, and closed her eyes.

For what seemed like the millionth time, she felt the warmth of her tears run down her cheek. Truly, Skye knew she’d never find someone like her ever again.


End file.
